


Tales from the Junk Shop

by Maple



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Creepy, Gen, Quote Challenge, Spooky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-04-09
Updated: 2011-04-09
Packaged: 2017-10-17 20:11:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,193
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/180752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maple/pseuds/Maple
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Mac and Richie seek out answers at an antique store run by two old men. Richie gets an earful of creepy tales while he waits in the main store area.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tales from the Junk Shop

**Author's Note:**

> Some mention of violent happenings, including homicides, but nothing explicit. Well below the violence threshold of the show itself.
> 
> Based on a Quote Challenge, the Quote: "I like the scythe. It amuses me." From The Book Thief by Markus Zusak.

Richie frowned at the old building. Calling it dilapidated would be putting a positive spin on it. "Here?" he asked Mac.

Mac checked the address he'd scribbled down on a piece of paper and re-hefted the bulky canvas bag onto his shoulder.

Hidden in the bag were three swords, a garden-variety utility knife with strange markings scratched into it, and another smaller bag holding together the shattered remains of a bronzed ceramic tile with even more strange markings in the glaze. As usual, they were right in the middle of danger, trouble, and mystery. Also as usual, it required looking into things and research: endless stretches of boring, followed by life-threatening moments of terror. After about four months of it, Richie was finding he had just started to get used to the lifestyle.

"This is it. Malcolm Brothers. Exotics and Intangibles, LTD."

Richie followed Mac inside, a bell at the top jangling as the door hit it. The store was chock full of stuff and Richie looked from item to item with fascination. Overhead were taxidermy owls swooping down, there was a spindly looking sewing machine sitting in one corner, and a full-length swivel-type mirror was shoved into another corner. Other machines loomed and lurked, although Richie couldn't name them. Small bits and pieces of stuff were pushed into every crevice. It was one big junk store.

"Mr. Malcolm?" Mac asked, and Richie realized that a grey-haired old man had been hidden among all the stuff.

"I am one," the old man said as he came forward. He extended a hand and Mac shook it. "Redcliff Malcolm. My brother is here also."

As if at the mere mention of him called him out, another identical looking old man appeared from the back area. "Graykill Malcolm. How can we help you?"

"Duncan MacLeod," Mac introduced himself. "My friend, Richie." Mac indicated his bag. I have some items that I want to know more about."

"Come with me," said the second old man. His eyes raked up and down Richie and Richie could tell they were scornful, displeased with him. "Your friend may wait here."

Mac gave him an apologetic shrug and followed Graykill into the dark, sooty back. Richie started to wander the store, aware that the other guy's eyes were on him constantly. "You've got some awesome stuff here, you know."

Redcliff trailed after Richie, craning his neck to see what it was that Richie had been observing. "Awesome, you say. Yes, yes. Some of it would be." He touched a fingertip to the ancient mirror that Richie had been admiring. "You fancy this?"

"It's great," Richie said and made the motion of doing dumbbell curls with his arms. "It'd be really useful. I've never seen one this big."

Redcliff grinned and Richie wished he hadn't. The man needed a dentist. Badly. "It's rumored that this was the portal between a rich young man and his lover. Each night he would leave his matrimonial bed and step through the glass, to his lover's home, a hundred miles away. Before dawn, he would step through again, and be in his own bedroom."

Richie didn't believe him, but it was a good sounding story. "Hey, that's cool. Does it still work?" He prodded the mirror with a finger, but it stood firm. He could see that the backing of the glass had grown old and streaked, as if someone had flung water against it and the silver had run.

"No, not anymore. Not since the lover grew desperate for the young man's total attention and murdered the wife and their newborn child. The blood of the innocent sealed the mirror forever."

Suddenly the streaky look in the mirror seemed a little too…real. Richie recoiled. Weird old man. He was just trying to creep him out. Richie wandered to the next item, an old-style phone where the mouth piece and the hearing part were separated. "What about this one?"

Redcliff looked thoughtful. "It belonged once to a farmer. There was a threshing accident on the farm and the father and two sons were killed. Two were mangled almost beyond recognition, but one son was still alive, though bleeding to death. The wife called for help, but the roads were bad and help didn't arrive in time."

"Oh, man," said Richie. He couldn't get the image out of his mind. The isolation…and there would have been so much blood.

"After the incident, she went quite insane, of course. Claimed she could talk to her husband and children on the phone. She spoke into it constantly. And then one night, a neighbor had a lightning strike to his barn that started a fire and he came over to use the phone to call for help. He grabbed it right out of her hands, in mid-conversation. When he lifted it to his ear, of course, the dead farmer was on the other line."

Richie felt like the creepy-crawlies had gotten under his skin. He shivered. Then he looked to the back of the store. Would Mac never get done? He tried to find a chair, maybe a book, among all the junk. He really didn't want to talk to the old man anymore. Did he have a horror story for everything in the room?

Richie took a stumbling step backwards and lost his balance. He put his hand out and touched something metal and wooden that was hanging on the wall. He looked up and saw a wooden-handled scythe jutting out.

"Oh, now that piece has a special history." The old man reached up and caressed the handle. He spoke, but it was more for himself than Richie. "I like the scythe. It amuses me." He turned and focused his eyes on Richie. "Would you care to hear the story of this particular scythe?"

Richie shook his head. "Thanks, but no thanks."

"This was my scythe, when I was younger, and a reaper," Redcliff said, obviously intent on telling the story. "You can be blinded, amongst all that golden color, you know. And there is a rhythm to the work."

Richie saw Mac emerge from the dismal background of the store. He looked grim and resolved. "Yeah, I hear you," he told the old man. "Look, Mac's back, I gotta go."

Redcliff reached out and touched Richie's hair. "It was a gold very much like yours," he said. "Though she had no time to scream."

With that, Richie pushed away from the old man just in time to beat Mac to the door.

Out on the street, he squinted at the world and tried to catch his breath.

"Well, that wasn't much help at all. I think the old man may have known something, but he didn't want to tell me. He kept saying the darnedest things. I might try coming back--" Mac stopped. "You okay, Rich?" he asked, concerned.

"Yeah, oh, yeah. Just fine. Bad air in there. Stuffy." Richie started down the sidewalk next to Mac as they headed toward the car. "It's just…. Let's never go there again."

Mac must have not enjoyed his experience either. He nodded. "You'll get no arguments from me."


End file.
